I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

I remember saying that things were never going to be the same. A prophecy come true, but never did I expect such a shift. Things did change, became unbelievably comfortable and good, perhaps the way I wanted them all my life. To what I owe this good fortune, I can’t say. But I do so sincerely hope to earn more of this prosperity in my time.

What strikes me most in this entry is that I find being unbelievably comfortable a good thing, whereas now the phrase strikes me as a bad thing. It’s like I seek change and new experiences so much that comfort seems like a dirty word. Is that good?